


The 12 Days of Jogan Christmas

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: M/M, Will eventually feature Jewish!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...some Christmas cookie decorating.
Relationships: Julian Larson-Armstrong/John Logan Wright III
Kudos: 18





	1. Christmas Cookies

Julian frowns down at the counter. It’s not that his cookies look _bad_ , exactly -- they appear to have been baked the appropriate amount of time, and he’s not entirely unhappy with his decorating. It’s just that they don’t look quite as nice as what he'd imagined. The edges are thin and crisp instead of fluffy, and the texture of his frosting is a little more lumpy than smooth and silky. As he watches, one of his painstakingly decorated Santa hats plops off the cookie, staining the counter with red icing.

“Jules?”

Logan’s hovering in the doorway, looking a little confused as he takes in the mess of the kitchen. Every surface is covered in flour -- or is that powdered sugar? -- and Julian himself has a rainbow of icing streaked over his arms.

“...what are you doing?” Logan asks, stepping inside, “Did you try to cook again?”

“I tried to bake,” Julian says, feeling a little stupid, “Christmas cookies.”

Logan moves closer, peering down at the tray of cookies on the counter.

“They’re not bad,” he says, “That reindeer is pretty cool.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not!” Logan insists, “You’re not a bad artist. Sure, they’re a little...lopsided. But they’re not bad.”

“They’re awful. I just thought...the Windsors are always going on about Kurt’s stupid cookies. I figured it couldn’t be that hard,” he prods at one of them, scowling when a flood of sprinkles spills off the cookie, “I’m just gonna throw these out, before anyone sees.”

He scoops up the tray, but Logan intercepts him. He grabs the top cookie -- a snowflake covered in white frosting and edible glitter -- and takes a large bite. Frosting drips down his chin, and Julian grimaces.

“Oh come on, Lo, you don’t have to. I know I messed them up.”

But Logan doesn’t look disgusted. He looks thoughtful, instead, examining the rest of the cookie in his hand as he chews. 

He finally swallows and looks back up, “It’s pretty good. A little crispy on the edges, but the center is chewy. I like it.”

He takes another bite. Julian’s not sure why it makes him so happy. 

“There’s something different in here, right? Cinnamon?”

“Nutmeg. I thought it sounded Christmasy.”

“It’s good.”

In another bite, the whole cookie is gone. Logan licks the frosting off his fingers, and Julian can’t hold back a small smile.

“You really didn’t have to do that. But thank you.”

“Oh my god, they’re _good_. I swear. Here, open up,” Logan picks up another cookie -- a mitten, this time -- and holds it up to Julian’s lips, “Taste it. You’ll like it.”

The cookie presses against his mouth, and Julian reluctantly takes the smallest of bites. The frosting is sweet when it hits his tongue, the softness a nice contrast to the crispy cookie. The nutmeg feels like a fun little surprise, and Logan grins at the look on his face.

“It’s not that bad,” Julian agrees, “The texture is weird, but it’s not that bad.”

“It’s good, Jules,” Logan says, his voice a little soft, “So how about we pour some milk, take these upstairs, and convince Derek to blow his diet a little bit?”

Julian smiles. He holds the plate of cookies in his hands, waits as Logan grabs a jug of milk and several glasses from a cupboard and then follows him upstairs, the mess in the kitchen forgotten.

He’s sure someone will clean it up.


	2. Candy Canes

Logan’s going to snap.

He is absolutely, one-hundred-percent, going to lose his goddamn mind.

He doesn’t understand. He can’t compute how Julian could possibly be doing this, how anyone on the goddamn planet could make something as innocent as _candy canes_ look so overtly obscene.

And yet here they are.

Logan knows Julian gets looks for the lollipops. He understands why boys gulp and hurry away when Julian pulls out a cherry-red popsicle. But somehow the recently adopted candy cane habit is so much worse. The peppermint sticks had come out in early December, had arrived in a box of assorted flavors and sizes. 

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it. Julian had smiled as he tore off the plastic, sucked on the end of the candy cane until it formed a sharp point. It wasn’t until he popped the curve of the cane in his mouth, dipped his tongue into the empty space. It had made his cheek bulge outwards in a truly pornographic way, and Logan had dropped his coffee where he stood.

So yes, Logan’s having a bit of a hard time at the moment. His hand is white-knuckled around the book he’s given up pretending to read, his eyes fixed on the way the red-and-white striped candy disappears between Julian’s lips. 

It’s inappropriate, is what it is. There are other boys milling around, freshman and sophomores who halt, wide-eyed, to stare as their resident celebrity fellates a perfectly innocent piece of candy. If Logan had just an ounce more brain power, he’d send them away with a glare. As it stands, though, his attention is wholly focused on Julian’s reddened lips, on the way that pink tongue darts out to lick at sweet peppermint, the way the stick disappears into Julian’s pretty mouth. 

The book falls from Logan’s hand. He can’t even pretend he isn’t staring now.

Julian, meanwhile, seems unfazed by all the attention. He seems oblivious to the many eyes on him. A pair of headphones rests over his dark curls, a cord trailing down to what looks suspiciously like Logan’s iPod peeking over the top of his jeans pocket. He’s bobbing his head in time with an unheard song, his eyes focused on the treat held between his candy-stained fingers. He hums a little as he sucks on it, and his lips press together with a wet smack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan catches one of the newer boys shifting uncomfortably, one hand moving to adjust the front of his uniform slacks.

That’s it.

Logan has to stop this. It’s part of his responsibility as Prefect.

Julian glances up when Logan moves close. He releases his hold on the candy cane, keeping it between his lips as he lowers the headphones around his neck. He opens that stained mouth, but Logan speaks first.

“Upstairs,” he says, “Now.”

For a moment, Julian doesn’t react. But then his lips curve upward slightly. His eyes twinkle.

“Finally got you,” he says, pulling the candy from his mouth, “Took long enough.”

“You’re a _menace_ ,” Logan growls, grabbing a fistful of Julian’s shirt and hauling him upwards, “My room. Now.”

Julian stumbles a little as he’s tugged from his chair. His headphones fall to the cushion, the long cord tangling around the arm of the chair. Logan pulls the candy cane from between Julian’s lips, tossing it in the general direction of the waste basket.

“Better make this worth my while,” Julian says, “I was enjoying that.”


	3. White Christmas

Julian’s always loved the aesthetics of a white Christmas. It reminds him of old movies, of beautiful paintings, of spiced air and happy laughter. Of course he’d agreed to spend Christmas in the city with Logan. He’d been so  _ happy _ when Logan invited him, when that large hand carded through his hair as Logan’s sleep-raspy voice asked the simple question. Nothing could have made Julian say no.

He’d just forgotten how  _ cold _ New York is in late December.

He’d wanted to look dashing when Logan picked him up from the airport. He’d worn his tightest jeans, topped with a cream-colored sweater and a maroon jacket that suited his coloring. The look must go over well -- Logan’s greeting involves a drawn-out kiss, a slow side of hands below Julian’s waist.

“Hi,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep and beautiful, “I missed you.”

“I can tell,” Julian smiles, leaning up for one more kiss. Logan laughs into it, and the rumble of his chest so close sends a jolt of electricity through Julian’s body. He’s reluctant to pull away, but they can’t exactly spend the rest of the holiday season standing in the middle of baggage claim. 

So Julian steps away, reaching for his suitcase only for Logan to knock his hand out of the way and take it himself. He glances at Julian’s outfit, frowns just a moment, then unloops his own scarf from his neck and winds it around Julian’s neck. It’s a bright, emerald green, and it clashes so horribly with Julian’s jacket he knows he must look like some kind of demented Christmas elf.

“You’ll freeze,” Logan says before Julian can protest, “I’m protecting your delicate California constitution.”

“I know how to dress,” Julian protests, “Just because I can’t rock the peacoat look like  _ you _ …”

But despite his protestations, the blistering wind that hits the moment they step through the automatic doors sends his teeth chattering. Logan gives him a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow as Julian steels himself against the chill. It’s not snowing at the moment, though the thick blanket of white along the sidewalks proves it’s certainly cold enough for it. He knows the forecast is calling for another foot or so on Christmas Eve, and he’s looking forward to a holiday that truly feels like a winter wonderland.

He just wishes the cold didn’t  _ hurt _ so much.

Thankfully, Logan blasts the heat in the car, turns on the seat warmers until Julian’s thighs feel warm through the fabric of his jeans. He smiles, and Julian feels even warmer.

Logan seems only marginally surprised when Julian expresses an interest in venturing out into the cold once more.

“Ice skating,” he says, “I know you’ll hate it, because you hate touristy things. But I want to go ice skating at Rockefeller.”

Logan groans, “It’s always so crowded, Jules.”

“Just once. Just for a little while, and then you never have to do it again.”

“Until next year, when you ask me again.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“If you promise to wear gloves,” Logan says, “And a scarf. And a hat.”

Julian sighs, but he lets Logan jam a beanie over his hair, takes the offered gloves and scarf. Then Logan tosses  _ another _ coat at him, pulls it around Julian’s shoulders and over the jacket he’s already wearing. By the time he’s done, Julian feels like a child stuffed into a marshmallow coat, his arms spread too wide at his sides.

“I look ridiculous.”

“You’ll  _ feel _ warm,” Logan retorts, “Do you want to go skating or not?”

“...yes.”

“Then wear the coat.”

Julian’s not quite sure when Logan had made calls, but it’s clear he’s pulled some strings. They enter the VIP entrance to the rink, which makes sense, but then an employee is rushing forward, two pairs of skates in hand.

“Mr. Wright, Mr. Larson, we’re so pleased to have you. Here are your skates. We have coffee ready, of course, but if you’d like something else I’d be happy to arrange it.”

“These are my size,” Julian says, when he’s handed a pair of skates, “When did you have time to arrange this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Logan waves off the question, taking a seat on a nearby bench to pull on his own skates, “You wanted to skate.”

He finishes tying off his laces, stands and holds out a hand to Julian. He smiles, and Julian struggles not to swoon as he lets Logan help him up. He lets Logan lead him out onto the ice -- Julian may be the better skater, but he knows Logan likes playing the chivalrous boyfriend. So Julian lets Logan hold onto his hand, laughs when Logan swings him around the turns of the rink. Logan stumbles a little on the turn, and Julian laughs when Logan’s arm lands heavy on his waist.

“It’s been a while,” Logan admits, “I was trying to be romantic.”

“It was very romantic,” Julian says, foregoing the hand-holding to wind his arm through Logan’s, “So was bringing me skating when you didn’t want to come.”

“I wanted to come with you,” Logan says, and Julian has to duck his head to hide the flush that spreads across his cheeks, “All that dumb winter stuff you’ve been talking about. Snow angels. Snowmen. A lot of cuddling by the fire.”

“Oh, I like that last one.”

Logan grins, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the tip of Julian’s cold-reddened nose. They skate a few more laps pressed tight up against each other, and Julian throws in the handful of tricks he knows. Logan rolls his eyes when Julian spins on the ice, grabbing his arm once more when he catches up.

“You’re showing off.”

“What, and arranging that VIP treatment at the entrance wasn’t  _ you _ showing off?”

Logan doesn’t have a response to that, so he just pulls Julian closer. Eventually, Julian can’t hide his shivers, and Logan pulls him back to the entrance, sets him down on the bench and fetches a warm mug of something from a small table. It’s decidedly  _ not _ hot cocoa, and Julian hums at the first sweet taste of mulled wine.

“You really did make some calls, didn’t you?”

“I wanted you to have a good Christmas,” Logan says, taking a seat beside him, “You said you wanted to do all the cheesy Christmas things. I wanted you to like it enough to…”

“To what?”

“To want to come back next year.”

He looks almost embarrassed by the admission, brings his own mug up to his mouth to hide his expression. Julian waits for him to move it away, then leans in for a soft kiss.

“I’ll come back,” he promises, “As long as you’re still here, I’ll come back.”

They’re both a little pink now, smiling softly to themselves as they sip at the hot wine. Once their cups are drained, Logan leans in, his breath warm against Julian’s skin.

“So. That cuddling by the fire, next?”

“Lead the way.”


	4. Eggnog

Logan’s head is swirly.

Spinny? Squiggly? No, swirly feels right. He frowns down at the cup of eggnog in his hands. He’d thought it was non-alcoholic at the first sip. Maybe it had been, when he started. But along the way someone -- he blames Cyrus, or maybe Thad -- had spiked the nog heavily with bourbon, and now Logan’s head feels swirly.

It’s not a particularly fun feeling. He can’t think straight, can’t communicate clearly. He just scowls down at his drink, trying to ignore the boy across the room.

Fucking _Julian_.

Logan brings his cup up to his lips, wincing at the sharp taste of alcohol as he takes a long sip. He’s been trying desperately to ignore the way Julian keeps _smiling_ , keeps _laughing_ , keeps fucking _leaning_ against other boys.

Since when have all the other boys paid this much attention to Julian, anyway? Logan can’t remember this ever happening before, Julian surrounded by admirers vying for his attention _at school_. He feels like he hasn’t spent a moment with Julian alone all semester. He’s always followed by a half dozen starstruck boys, smiling at fawning fans. 

Sebastian Smythe rests a hand on Julian’s shoulder. Julian doesn’t pull away.

When did he run out of drink?

Logan pushes himself from his chair. His legs don’t quite wind up underneath him and he stumbles, his shoulder falling heavily against the wall. He grumbles under his breath, shoving angrily against the wall as if _that_ was his problem. Some of the eggnog spills on the counter as he pours a new cup, but he can’t bring himself to care. He takes a sip. It’s even stronger now, more bourbon than anything.

He hates it.

A peal of laughter rings from the other side of the room, and Logan cringes. It’s Julian’s, he knows without looking, and it’s real. It’s not the tinny sound of fake laughter. He’s actually _amused_ by something one of those stupid boys said, actually thinks it’s funny enough to deserve his attention.

It’s infuriating.

Somehow, Logan’s cup is quickly emptied again. There must be a leak, he thinks, and he tosses it in favor of finding a new one. Just as he reaches for it, a hand falls on his own.

“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?”

Julian’s voice is kind, and somehow that makes Logan more upset.

“It’s a party,” he says, shoving Julian’s hand away, “Christmas. End of finals. The whole _point_ is to get drunk.”

“It is a party,” Julian agrees, “But you don’t seem like you’re having much fun.”

“How would you know? You’re having plenty of fun.”

Logan tries to reach for a new cup again, but he’s off balance enough that he misses. Julian sighs, wrapping his fingers around Logan’s wrist. He tugs a little, and Logan can’t help but follow.

“Come on, Lo. Let’s get you upstairs before you further embarrass yourself.”

Logan wants to shake him off. He really does. But he’s unsteady on his feet, and Julian’s arm feels so nice around his waist…

“Won’t your fans be disappointed?”

“My _fans_?” Julian sounds amused, “They’re my friends.”

“You didn’t use to have so many friends.”

“I did. You just didn’t care about any friends who weren’t you.”

Logan wants to argue, but he isn’t sure he can. He remembers how many get-well-soon cards Julian received in the hospital. He remembers all the people stopping him in the hall when Julian was gone, asking about his well-being. He remembers the hugs when Julian came back, the bright smiles as people Logan hadn’t known embraced him. 

He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice Julian had other friends at school. How he didn’t notice Julian cared about anyone else. 

He took Julian for granted, and he knows that now. But he’s been trying to be better, and Julian won’t _let_ him.

“I know you’re trying,” Julian says patiently, and Logan frowns at the realization he’s been speaking out loud, “But I’m allowed to have other friends.”

“Why do you have to let them _touch_ you?”

“Nobody’s touching me.”

“Sebastian touched your arm. That Riley guy keeps carrying your books. And that kid in theatre _hugged_ you.”

“Yes, how very scandalous,” Julian deadpans.

“I don’t _like_ them touching you.”

Julian halts, and Logan nearly topples forward at the sudden stop. He wavers, one arm darting sideways to grab at the wall. He frowns, turning to Julian in confusion.

“Why not?” Julian demands, “Why don’t you like them touching me?”

Logan swallows, “You know why.”

“I don’t. I need you to tell me.”

Julian’s arm is suddenly too warm around Logan’s waist. Logan takes a step back, “I just...I don’t like the way they look at you. I don’t want them touching you.”

“Why?”

“Because...because _I_ want to look at you. _I_ want to touch you.”

Julian sucks in a breath. His eyes widen, and he just _stares_.

Of course, that only means Logan’s stupid swirly brain decides to fill the silence.

“I bought you like...six Christmas presents,” he says, “I couldn’t decide. None of them seemed good enough. I wanted you to like them. I wanted you to...I wanted to prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That I...you know.”

“No,” Julian shakes his head, firmly, “I _don’t_ know. I need you to _say it_.”

Logan’s voice trembles, “I think I love you, Jules. I mean I...I know. I know I love you. I love you.”

There’s another hitch in Julian’s breathing. His chin angles downward. His hands twitch. Logan’s own hand reaches forward, his fingers brushing against the back of Julian’s hand. When Julian doesn’t pull away, Logan intertwines their fingers.

“I thought…” Julian stammers, “It felt like...but I thought maybe I was making it up. That you were just trying to be nice.”

“I was. Trying to be nicer. But it wasn’t just that.”

A tear falls down Julian’s cheek. It makes Logan’s chest twist, and he briefly panics before Julian looks up again.

He’s _smiling_. 

“I can’t believe you’re telling me you like me while you’re totally wasted.”

“I’d say it sober, too,” Logan promises, “I mean maybe...I haven’t, I know. But I can prove it. I have all your presents, I can show you. I don’t know if you’ll like them. You’re better at presents than me.”

“You can show me tomorrow, okay? And can you do me a favor?”

Logan nods.

“Tell me again in the morning, okay? When you’re sober.”

“I will. I promise.”

Julian smiles again, then leans forward. His lips brush softly across Logan’s cheek. He squeezes Logan’s hand.

“Merry Christmas, Lo.”

He drifts away before Logan can work up a response. Logan watches as he disappears inside his own room. The door clicks shut softly behind him, and Logan smiles.

He better sober up, fast. 

He has a very important meeting in the morning.


	5. Airport Christmas

Julian doesn’t lose control of his emotions very easily. Pasting on a smile and pretending everything was fine is a skill he learned as a young child. He’d spent three years pretending he wasn’t in love with Logan. Longer, after, pretending he was okay. He hadn’t cracked.

But this is too much.

He’s going to break down in this shitty airport in Minnesota. He’s going to cry in front of _everyone_. 

Originally, he didn’t think he’d make it to New York for Christmas. Logan flying out to Los Angeles hadn’t been an option -- he’s in the final stages of his master’s thesis, and he’d needed as much time in the campus library as possible. Unfortunately, Julian’s schedule had been just as tight. Filming stretched out until Christmas Eve, and the last-minute early wrap had given him just enough time to buy a last-minute plane ticket to New York.

It’s really just his luck that the weather doesn’t cooperate. His heart sinks when he hears the announcement of an emergency landing over Minneapolis. All that work, all that excitement over the last-minute tickets to see Logan, and he hasn’t even made it to the city.

Logan must see the expression on his face when he FaceTimes.

“...you’re not on the plane,” Logan says, looking disappointed, “Where are you?”

“Minneapolis,” Julian says, “They had to land.”

Logan nods, like he understands, “The snow storm rolled in faster than they predicted.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” Julian says, and his voice cracks, “I can’t...I have to be back on the twenty-sixth…”

“Julian, are you crying?”

He is.

God, he’s pathetic.

“I really wanted to see you,” Julian says, and he can hear the waver in his own voice, “This movie’s been so stressful, and I haven’t seen you in so long, and I just wanted to have one day…”

“Hey,” Logan cuts him off, looking a little worried, “We knew this year was gonna be hard, right? It’s going to be okay. I’m turning in my draft in January and then taking a week off while my advisor edits it, remember? I’ll be out there before you know it.”

“But it’s _Christmas_ ,” Julian protests, feeling like an absolute baby.

“I know. I’m sorry. Are you really still in the airport?”

Julian nods, bringing up a hand to wipe at his wet eyes, “There was a line. For the hotels.”

“And you didn’t just barge to the front and play the _Julian Larson_ card?”

Julian sniffles, “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Jules,” Logan says softly, “You can’t spend Christmas Eve in the airport. Go make them give you a room, okay? Text me what hotel. Take a shower. Call me when you’re settled.”

Julian nods. He feels so _stupid_. He’s sure Logan thinks he looks it, too, crying like a child in the middle of an airport because Christmas didn’t go his way. He hangs up quickly, scrubs at his face with the sleeves of his knit sweater, and takes a breath.

He’s Julian Larson. He doesn’t _cry_ in airports. 

Admittedly, he does feel a little better once he has a hotel reservation. The woman who sets it up for him is extremely apologetic, arranges a taxi for him without being prompted. He shoots Logan a text in the car, letting him know he’s on his way to a hotel. Logan doesn’t respond, but he’s definitely seen it -- when Julian checks in at reception, the concierge informs him that his room service order should arrive shortly.

“Room service?” Julian frowns, “What room service?”

“Yes, the,” the concierge pauses, looking down at a note in front of him, “The lobster dinner, with the Château d'Esclans rosé and a crème brûlée for dessert. I believe a Mr. Wright called it in?”

Evidently Logan hadn’t been _too_ put off by his tears.

“Right, the lobster,” Julian says, “Perfect. I’ll probably be showering, so if they just bring it in?”

“Of course, Mr. Larson. I’ll pass it along. Please enjoy your stay, and let us know if there’s anything more we can do for you.”

Julian tries for a smile. He’s not sure it comes across, but the concierge seems unbothered. Julian takes the elevator up to his floor, slides his keycard into the door and nearly collapses as soon as he’s through. But Logan’s right -- he feels and smells like airplane, and he desperately wants a shower.

As he steps into the bathroom, he eyes the tub a little longingly. But he has food coming, and he does want to call Logan again. He settles for a quick shower, makes liberal use of the hotel shampoo and scrubs his skin until it colors a light pink.

His food is set up on a small table when he steps out, wrapped in a thick fluffy robe. It smells absolutely divine, and when he lifts the lid of the serving tray he nearly moans at the sight of it.

“Lobster?” he says as soon as Logan picks up his call, “Interesting choice.”

“I know you like seafood,” Logan says, “Even if you refuse to eat it around me. I ordered you breakfast for tomorrow, too. I guess I could’ve let that be a surprise...”

“I might’ve gotten too excited when they knock on the door,” Julian says, scooping up a beautiful forkful of food, “I’d probably wake up thinking it was you surprising me.”

Logan’s smile is a little sad, “The storm isn’t letting up any time soon. I checked.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry this didn’t work out.”

“I just really needed this,” Julian confesses, “I’ve barely been sleeping. I can’t remember the last time I had a break. I didn’t get that stupid part I wanted. I haven’t seen you in...god, since what, Labor Day weekend?”

Logan frowns, “Wait, rewind. You found out about the part?”

“They _went a different direction_.”

“Well shit, Jules. I’m sorry.”

“It happens. There’ll be other parts.”

“You really wanted that one.”

Julian shrugs, talking over a mouthful of food now, “‘s fine.”

Logan’s still looking him with that sad, almost pitying look. It makes Julian itch, and he abruptly changes the subject.

“How’s your dad been? Still exclusively buying you autobiographies of famous political minds for Christmas?”

“He took us to _The Nutcracker_ ,” Logan says, making a face, “My father. Took us to a _ballet_.”

“Wow. And he survived?”

“He’s almost been _tolerable._ For a few minutes earlier I think we were actually getting along.”

Julian laughs, “You don’t have to sound so disgusted. It’s nice that he’s trying.”

“He asked about you. One of your presents is kind of small, and he seriously pulled me aside and asked if it was a ring.”

A piece of lobster falls from Julian’s fork. He raises an eyebrow, “Is it?”

“No,” Logan says quickly, “It’s a...I’m not ruining it. Why, do you want it to be a ring?”

“I mean...we said when you’re done with school, right?”

“I’m almost done. I just...would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t say _no_ …”

“Well,” Logan’s voice sounds a bit odd, and he’s not quite looking in the camera, “That’s good to know.”

“Yeah.”

“...it’s a flash drive, for the record. I recorded myself...you kept saying you missed hearing me play.”

“You recorded yourself playing?” Julian asks, “Really?”

“That’s probably even more cliche than a ring, god,” Logan laughs a little, “I can just upload it. E-mail it to you instead. The rest of them probably have to wait until I fly out there.”

“Do you think you could play something for me now?”

Logan seems like he’s been anticipating the request. He stands from the armchair he’s been sitting on, crosses over to the piano and sets his phone down. His hands run over the keys quickly, a short warm-up scale before he takes a breath.

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can plan on me_

_Please have snow and mistletoe_

_And presents on the tree_

Julian smiles. He sets his own phone down against the nightstand, propped against the remains of his dinner. The blankets are thick and warm, and he pulls them around his shoulders, watching his boyfriend play for him.

_Christmas Eve'll find me_

_Where the love light gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

He’s feeling a little better, now that he’s gotten food and drink and a warm place to spend the night. He still wishes he were closer, that he were sitting on the bench beside Logan instead of several states away, alone in a hotel room. But he can almost pretend it’s real, that his whole Christmas hadn’t been pulled wildly off-track.

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can plan on me_

_Please have snow and mistletoe_

_And presents on the tree_

He’s so tired. Logan’s voice is always so calming, and the tinkle of piano keys is soft. He feels his eyelids begin to dip closed, his head growing heavy on the pillow. He struggles to stay awake -- he wants to hear Logan’s song, wants to keep talking.

But god, he’s tired.

His eyes shut, and when Logan glances at his phone screen he smiles at the sight of his fast-asleep boyfriend.

_Christmas Eve'll find me_

_Where the love light gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_


	6. Mistletoe

Logan looks more frustrated than Julian’s ever seen him. It’s endlessly amusing, and he knows he should feel at least a little bit guilty. But he can’t quite bring himself to, not yet.

He suffered for three years. Logan can suffer for a night.

He’d noticed the strange decor just minutes after entering the Wright house. Michelle’s always been so predictable with her Christmas decorations, always shades of white and gold and silver, sparkling in the candlelight. Always so _classic_. So _clean_.

The mistletoe tacked to every doorway stands out like a sore thumb. He knows it’s Logan’s doing, and not just because Michelle had whispered it to him when he first walked in.

Logan’s eyes keep darting to the bright green sprigs. Every time Julian passes beneath a doorway, Logan hurries in an attempt to stay alongside him. He keeps missing, stepping through just before or just after Julian. It hasn’t been entirely easy for Julian -- he keeps having to hurry his footsteps, to abruptly turn just before they pass into the next room. He feigns innocence each time, faking interest in family photos on the wall or pretending his phone has sounded in his pocket.

And each time, Logan’s features twist into an unhappy scowl. 

God, is Julian having fun.

“Why are Christmas traditions so _weird_?” Derek asks, once he’s caught on to Julian’s game, “You hang a poisonous plant on a doorway, and if you stand underneath it with someone else you have to kiss? And you guys think dreidel is stupid.”

“ _Logan_ thinks it’s stupid,” Julian corrects, “And that’s only because he always loses. Besides, thought this would be the kind of tradition you like. Imagine how many girls you could get with something like this.”

“I don’t need tricks to get a kiss, thank you.”

“Neither does Logan. Yet here we are.”

“Why aren’t you letting him, anyway? Michelle knows you two are dating doesn’t she?”

Julian shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s fine to rile him up, I guess.”

“You’re going to frustrate him to no end. He already looks ready to burst.”

“He could kiss me any time if he really wanted. He’s just making things difficult for himself.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. Julian does hear his muffled snort the next time he veers to the side rather than passing under mistletoe, though. Logan actually growls out loud, but Julian smiles as he compliments Michelle on her Christmas tree ornaments.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” Logan mutters, coming to stand alongside Julian as he pretends to stare out at the falling snow.

“Doing what?” Julian asks, head tilted to one side, “I’m only admiring the view.”

“Avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Julian says, looking pointedly down at Logan’s hand on his arm.

“You’re not letting me kiss you.”

“Oh, did you want to kiss me?” Julian turns, blinking innocently, “You can.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You’re over-complicating things.”

“I’m trying to be _romantic_.”

“In that case, don’t you think you should woo me?”

Logan blinks, “ _Woo_ you.”

“Earn me.”

“Earn you.”

“If you’re really trying to be _romantic_.”

Julian grins, pulling away to move to the other side of the room. But Logan’s hand catches him fast around the wrist, and he’s suddenly spinning in the opposite direction, his back pressing firmly against a nearby doorway. Logan is warm against him, his fingers tight on Julian’s arm.

“How’s this for earning you?”

Logan’s kiss is fierce, passionate. One hand slips down to Julian’s waist, the other moves to cup his cheek. It makes Julian’s head spin. He looks smug when they part for air, and Julian can’t do anything but gasp.

“I think I win,” Logan says, sounding _almost_ unaffected. If not for the tell-tale hitch in his voice, Julian might feel offended.

“I don’t know,” he says, his own hands sliding up Logan’s chest, “I kinda feel like I won, too.”

Logan grins and leans in once more. Distantly, Derek groans.

  
“So _stupid_.”


	7. Playing Santa

“Okay wait, I don’t understand. Isn’t your family _Jewish_?”

Derek sighs, trying again to curl the shimmery silver ribbon on top of the present he’s been trying to wrap, “Yes. Kinda. Technically. We’re kind of lax on most of the religious doctrine, but we do the holidays.”

“So why,” Logan continues, still confused, “Are we doing all this?”

“Because some little _bitch_ in Amanda’s class told her that if Santa didn’t bring her presents it meant she wasn’t a good girl.”

“And you didn’t just want to tell her Santa’s not real?”

“She’s a _child_ , Logan. I’m not going to ruin magic for her yet.”

Logan frowns, like he wants to inquire further. But then Julian throws his roll of tape down, smiling widely.

“Done!” He crows, and Logan and Derek look over. Derek’s still struggling through wrapping his second gift, fighting with bright red paper in an effort to fold it neatly around an unevenly shaped box. Logan hasn’t even made it past the first gift -- his own attempt still sits in front of him, an absolute mess of green and white paper and wads of tape. 

Julian, meanwhile, has gotten through his entire pile. Each box is neatly wrapped in various shades of bright color, every single one accessorized with silk ribbons or metallic bows. Across the tag, in looping handwriting, he’s written _To Amanda, From Santa_.

“What the fuck?” Derek asks. Julian just blinks.

“Did you want me to help with yours, too?”

With Julian’s strange gift-wrapping talents, they manage to pile up a mountain of _mostly_ acceptable gifts. It’s probably too many gifts for a young girl who doesn’t even celebrate Christmas.

“It’s only the twentieth,” Logan says, as he helps pile the presents under the tree he and Julian had been sent out for, “Is there a reason we’re doing this so early?”

“Because my parents come back from their business trip tomorrow,” Derek explains, “Chanukah starts in two days, and I’ll never hear the end of it if the house has stockings instead of menorahs. Besides, it’s not like Amanda knows the difference.”

“We need to do something about this tree,” Julian says, poking at a limp branch, “Logan made a mess of the lights, and we have _no_ ornaments.”

That’s how Logan finds himself at Derek’s dining room table in the middle of the night, painstakingly pasting loops of paper into a long chain. Julian’s working on some kind of project involving glitter, and Derek’s managed to give himself at least three papercuts while working on paper snowflakes. They’re all a little sloppy, definitely homemade, but they look decent enough once everything’s hung up on the tree. 

“Okay,” Derek says, glancing around the living room, “I think that’s everything. Presents. Tree. Stockings. Am I missing anything?”

“The cookies,” Julian says, inching closer to the plate on the living room table, “She left them out for Santa. She’ll be very confused if he doesn’t eat them.”

Derek rolls her eyes, “Would you like to eat the cookies, Jules?”

“Well, if you insist.”

Julian promptly begins to shovel decorated sugar cookies into his mouth, grinning as he does so. Derek straightens the stockings on the mantle, adjusts a garland hung on the wall.

“Oh,” he says, “I did forget one thing.”

He moves to the closet, his body blocking whatever he’s reaching for. He turns, and Logan’s mouth twitches at the sight of the thing in his hands.

“I hope _you’re_ the one intending on wearing that.”

“You, actually,” Derek says, looking very much like he’s trying hard not to smile, “It would be the most believable.”

Across the room, Julian snorts so hard cookie sprays from between his lips.

“Julian’s the actor. Make him wear it.”

“Julian has his own costume.”

“I do?”

Derek grins. He hands the Santa Claus outfit to Logan, then holds up the other costume. Julian’s smile promptly fades.

“No,” he says.

“But it’s _Christmas_.”

Their alarms go off at an ungodly hour. Logan groans and tosses a throw pillow across the room at Julian, who whines loudly. The costumes are scratchy and uncomfortable, and the bells on Julian’s felt shoes jingle when he walks. 

“You make an adorable elf,” Logan sniggers, and Julian elbows him in the chest.

“Shut up and shove a pillow under your shirt, Santa. You’re supposed to be fat and jolly.”

They only _just_ make it downstairs before Amanda comes bounding down the stairs, closely followed by Derek. She takes the steps two at a time, and Derek’s mouth is pressed tight together in worry.

“Santa _came_!” She screeches, sliding under the Christmas tree and nearly toppling the presents over, “I was good!”

“Not only did Santa come,” Derek says, smirking over at Logan and Julian, “It looks like he’s still here.”

Amanda’s head swivels around, and her eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open, and she stares at Logan in shock and awe.

“Did you want to say something to her, Santa?” Derek asks pointedly.

“Uh…”

Julian takes over, thankfully, using a fake, high-pitched voice, “Santa wanted to let you know you’ve been a _very_ good girl this year. He’s sorry you felt left out before.”

Amanda just stares, unblinking. She has a small present clutched in her tiny hands.

“Panda?” Derek asks, softly, “Are you okay?”

That seems to jolt her back to reality. She drops the present, turns to Derek and pushes her small hands against his leg.

“ _Go_!” she demands, “I hafta talk to Santa!”

“I have to go?”

_“GO!”_ Amanda repeats, louder this time. She pushes until Derek holds his hands up in defeat and disappears into the kitchen, then turns back to “Santa”. Logan swallows nervously as she bounds forward, leaping up into his arms. He can feel the false beard droop a little. He hopes she doesn’t notice.

“Amy said you weren’t gonna come,” she pouts, “You _never_ come.”

“We uh...we mixed up the paperwork.”

Julian sighs beside him. Amanda just tilts her head.

“I get all these presents?”

“Every single one,” Julian promises, and Amanda turns to look at him, “They’re all just for you.”

Amanda’s little eyes narrow, and she leans forward, “Joos?”

Julian clears his throat, “No, Amanda, I’m Giggles the Christmas Elf.”

Amanda spins around again, this time squinting at Logan, “Lolo?”

“I’m Santa,” Logan says weakly.

Amanda doesn’t seem convinced. She glances between the two of them, her tiny eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Something seems to click in her head, and she gasps.

“Does Der-bear know you work for _Santa_?”

It’s as good a cover as any, Logan supposes.

“He doesn’t,” he tells her, “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

Amanda mimes zipping her lips, “I won’t tell.”

“You have to promise, Panda,” Julian says, tapping her nose, “Santa might fire us if he knows we told you.”

“I won’t! I promise!”

There’s a noise from the kitchen, and Derek pops his head out, “Am I allowed to come out yet?”

Amanda appears to consider this for a moment. She wiggles out of Logan’s arms, moving once more to the pile of presents beneath the tree.

“I wanna open them now,” she says, “Can Santa stay?”

Derek grins, “Yeah, Panda. Santa can stay.”


	8. Christmas Shopping

Julian likes acting. He likes music. His favorite color is green. He likes hedgehogs and kittens.

He likes...Logan?

_God_ , this is difficult.

For as long as he’s known Julian -- as friend, as boyfriend -- he should have some kind of idea as to what to buy him for Christmas. At least some kind of vague idea to work off of, at least.

But he has _nothing_.

He picks up a soft chenille sweater in a shade of green that would like nice against Julian’s skin. It feels comfortable, and it looks good, but it’s just not _enough_. He purchases it anyway. Maybe if he can’t find one good present, a half-dozen mediocre ones will suffice.

At another store, he hovers over the iPod display. That idea is quickly dismissed -- Julian has his own, Logan knows. He just enjoys stealing Logan’s.

And _that_ finally gives him an idea. It feels a little substandard, to gift his boyfriend with a _playlist_ for Christmas. But Julian seems to like his music, and it sounds romantic to curate songs that make Logan think of him. He veers over an aisle, looking for a CD or flash drive to burn the playlist onto.

He freezes.

At the end of the aisle, crouched before a display of headphones, is the very boy he’s been thinking about. Julian frowns, comparing between two boxes.

_Why is he here?_

_His flight isn’t supposed to get in until tomorrow._

Logan must make some sound of surprise, because Julian looks up suddenly and then pales. His face falls into an almost comical expression of surprise, and he drops both boxes.

“Logan!”

“Jules.”

“What are you,” Julian shifts nervously, stepping in front of the boxes, “What are you doing here?”

“I _live_ here,” Logan answers, incredulous, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I uh...I fly in a little early.”

“You didn’t want to let me know?”

Julian swallows, “Um, I wanted to...honestly? I hadn’t figured out your Christmas presents yet. I didn’t want to show up without one.”

“ _You_ haven’t figured out a present yet? That’s like, one of your strongest talents. Figuring out what to gift someone.”

“Well it’s different this year, isn’t it? Every other year has just been... _give Logan something that shows you care but not too much_. This year it’s supposed to be romantic. I’m not sure I’m as good at that kind of thing.”

He looks down at the discarded headphones -- one white, one black -- and grimaces. Logan already _has_ headphones, of course, he doesn’t know what he’d been thinking.

“If it helps,” Logan offers, “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing all day. Trying to figure out what to get you. All I have right now is a _sweater_.”

“...is it a soft sweater?”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point. Right now my best idea is to make you a mixtape.”

Julian’s quiet for a moment, blinking, “Fuck. That’s really good.”

“Could we just admit that neither of us know what to do? Maybe just shop together?”

For a moment, Julian hesitates. Then he sighs and nods, “Yeah. I think that’s probably for the best. I almost bought _bath oils_.”

“I don’t take baths.”

“I know.”

Julian’s lips quirk, and Logan laughs. They finally move towards each other, and Logan pulls Julian into his chest. It’s only been a week since they’ve seen each other, but it somehow feels like it’s been so much longer. Julian’s arms wind around Logan’s waist, and Logan kisses Julian’s temple.

“Okay,” Julian says, “Let’s shop together. But no telling Derek I lost my gift-giving skills, okay? If he makes fun of me I’m sending Amanda a kitten for Chanukah.”

“Like you wouldn’t do it anyway.”

“I’m holding off. For the right moment, you know?”

Logan grins, enjoying the pink flush on Julian’s cheeks when he takes him by the arm. They stroll out of the store, out into the cold New York City air once more. It’s not exactly conventional, shopping for Christmas presents together. But it feels right, Julian on his arm as they take turns gazing at window displays.

Besides, no part of this relationship has been strictly conventional anyway, has it?

“Oooh,” Julian says suddenly, “Look, muffins! I think we’ve earned a coffee break.”

“We haven’t even started yet, Jules.”

But Julian’s face turns upward, his lower lip jutting out in an endearing pout. Logan can’t help but melt a little, and he squeezes Julian’s hand.

  
“Okay. Coffee break. _Then_ we shop.”

Julian grins, "If you buy me a latte, we can call that a Christmas present. And if I buy _you_ a muffin..."

Logan rolls his eyes, but follows Julian into the coffee shop nonetheless.

He'll come up with a decent gift.

Eventually.


	9. Friendsmas

“Wait, hang on,” Julian nearly falls off the bed -- both due to the lazy way he’d been hanging off the end and the shocked movement he’d just made -- and only barely manages to steady himself by gripping Derek’s leg, “You’ve _never_ had a Christmas?”

“I’ve had _Christmas_ ,” Logan corrects, “It’s just...I’m sure we did the whole traditional thing when I was a kid. But I don’t remember. Sometimes my father’s assistant will have the house decorated, but it’s not like we sit around the Christmas tree and open presents with each other. He usually just has an intern buy me the latest electronic and then like, tosses it at me over breakfast.”

Julian looks horrified. He turns to Derek, who shrugs, then looks back at Logan, “But you never had _Santa_? You never did the Christmas cookies and the stockings and opening presents in your pajamas?”

“It’s just not our thing. I’d rather not spend the whole day with my dad.”

“But Michelle must’ve…”

“Tried. But spending Christmas with her means spending it with my _dad_ , so I just kept making excuses.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never done Christmas.”

“For the record,” Derek drawls, still gripping Julian’s wrist to keep him from hitting the floor, “ _I’ve_ never done Christmas either.”

“That’s different,” Julian says, “Derek, he’s never had _Christmas_.”

A look of concern flits over Julian’s face, and his brows furrow in thought. In one sudden movement, he rolls away from Derek, lands on his feet, and rushes out the door.

“This doesn’t bode well for me, does it?” Logan asks.

Derek shakes his head.

It’s a little frightening how quickly Julian’s able to make arrangements. Roughly two hours after their conversation, a ceiling-scraping Christmas tree is delivered by a team of four men. Julian supervises the set-up, barking orders as the men push the tree into the corner of the room beside the fireplace. Not long after, the deliveries begin: deep boxes full of glittering ornaments, thin boxes of stockings, too many lights and garlands for the size of the room.

It’s all a little... _much_.

“We _have_ to decorate the tree ourselves, Lo, it’s tradition.”

“The stockings have to hang on the fireplace. Look, the one with the hedgehog in a Santa hat is for me. The piano one is you. And Derek’s is the one with the menorah, of course.”

“We don’t really have time to make cookies, so I ordered these sugar cookies and we can just decorate them ourselves.”

“What do you mean, what’s the train for? It goes around the base of the tree. _Obviously_.”

Logan’s head hurts a little. The other Stuart boys who haven’t yet gone home for the holidays are beginning to peek out of their rooms in confusion. Some wonder why the house is being decorated at all -- it’s not even Christmas yet, after all, and they’ll all be home with their families by the twenty-fifth. The scent of gingerbread seeps through the walls, and the cheery Christmas music Julian’s been blasting sends Bailey fleeing from the house six hours early for his flight.

“You really don’t have to do all this, Julian.”

Julian looks up from where he’s been painstakingly frosting a sweater onto a gingerbread man, “Yes I do.”

Eventually, Julian banishes Logan to his room for the night, with strict orders to remain there until morning. Logan tries for some back-up with Derek, but he just looks amused by the whole thing.

“We _have_ to go to sleep,” he says, grinning, “Or else Santa won’t come.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

When Logan wakes in the morning, he can still smell the faint scent of gingerbread. It’s a little more subdued now, pleasant rather than overwhelming. He rolls out of bed, and his eyes catch on a wrapped box laying on his nightstand. The tag on it says _open me_ , and Logan wonders how Julian managed to sneak it in without waking him.

Inside is an absolutely gaudy pair of candy-cane striped pajama pants, along with a long-sleeved white shirt. The shirt itself has embroidery of Christmas lights around the neck and sleeves, and Logan sighs.

He puts it on anyway. 

It’s quiet throughout Stuart when he walks downstairs. The Christmas lights Julian had hung yesterday cast a soft glow around the downstairs, and when Logan finally enters the common room he stops in the doorway.

Julian really has done a great job. The tree is massive, but tastefully decorated in glittering ornaments and colorful lights. Three stockings hang on the mantle of the fireplace, all looking a little heavy, as if they’ve been stuffed overnight. There’s a small pile of presents being circled merrily by a battery-operated train, and Logan gently stoops down to make his own addition to the stack. 

Julian himself seems to have fallen asleep mid-decorating. He’s sprawled over the sofa, clad in pajamas featuring repeating _HO HO HO_ patterns, and a half-finished garland of popcorn is draped over his hands. 

There’s movement beside him, and then Derek’s sleepy voice.

“He must’ve passed out still doing all this,” Derek says, “It’s kind of impressive, isn’t it?”

Logan looks around the room. At the Christmas tree, covered in shiny ornaments. At the fireplace, decorated with personalized stockings for the three of them. The presents, Logan’s wrapped in green and gold and Derek’s in blue and silver. Then at Julian, drooling onto his own shoulder as a string of popcorn slowly slides onto the floor.

It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him.

“Let’s let him sleep a little bit more,” Logan says, “Help me make coffee?”

Derek smiles, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas, emblazoned with a horrible cartoon menorah. He leads the way into the kitchen, and Logan glances back at Julian once more.

It’s nice, he thinks, to have friends who care.


	10. Family Christmas Party

“We don’t have to stay, you know,” Julian says, pretending to reach for the caviar as an excuse to lean closer, “Say the word, and I’ll make a scene.”

It’s tempting, Logan thinks, as he gazes along the table of Wrights. All blonde and sullen, picking quietly at the gourmet meal in front of them. Logan’s pretty sure the plate in the middle is pufferfish, and he’s not sure he trusts their cooks enough to indulge.

All he wants is some goddamn mashed potatoes, how hard is that?

“You don’t have to make a scene,” Logan murmurs, “I’m sure they’ll forget I exist soon enough.”

He may have been tempting fate with that one. Aunt Jocelyn looks up, an empty smile on her face as she turns to Logan.

“So, John,” she starts, and Logan’s hands clench beneath the table, “How’s school going? We were so happy to hear you went Ivy, after all that trouble in high school…”

Logan swallows. Julian’s hand slips to his knee, squeezing slightly.

“Very well, thank you. Still holding on to that 4.0.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear, dear. Freshman year is the easiest, of course.”

She doesn’t even try to mask the condescension. Her husband looks up, a man Logan hasn’t even bothered to remember the name of.

“I hope you’re not too...distracted,” he says, his eyes briefly flitting to Julian, “It is so important for a boy your age to stay focused.”

“I’m perfectly capable of studying _and_ dating, thank you.”

There’s a deafening silence on the end of the table, and Logan knows he’s made the fatal mistake of drawing too much attention to Julian. The Wrights have thus far made a valiant attempt at ignoring him up until now -- save little cousin Amelia, who hasn’t stopped staring at him with an open mouth and pink cheeks -- but Logan’s words seem to have invited the questioning.

“We were surprised to hear you were bringing a boyfriend. I mean, what with this being so new and all.”

Michelle smiles, the poor thing, “Oh, it’s not _really_ new. They’ve been dating for quite some time, and friends for even longer. Julian’s always welcome here.”

“I think we just meant, you know, someone who’s not _serious_.”

Logan’s teeth hurt with how hard he’s clenching his jaw, “Julian and I _are_ serious, actually. Thank you for your concern.”

“You know what I meant, dear. It’s _Christmas_. It’s just unusual to bring a guest who’s not family.”

“Didn’t you bring your mistress last year, instead of your...what, fourth wife?”

Across the table, Johnny clears his throat. Logan’s sure he’s about to be lectured, but what actually comes out of his father’s mouth is: “Fifth. It was the fifth wife.”

For a moment, there’s shocked silence. Then half the table speaks at once, anger directed at both Logan and Johnny. Their eyes meet, and Johnny tilts his head to one side, the gesture clear: _get out_.

It’s perhaps the kindest thing his father’s ever done for him.

Logan grabs Julian’s hand in his own and peels away from the dining table, stopping onto to smile briefly at Michelle. Her responding smile looks a little pained, as if she’d like to be leaving too, and Logan feels a little guilty that she’s not able to escape with them.

They grab their coats without bothering to put them on first, escape out into the cold and slam the door behind them. Once the voices are silenced, they look at each other. Julian’s _smiling_.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Julian says, “Your dad siding with you and all. Is that guy really on his fifth wife?”

“The woman with him is going to be number six, actually.”

Julian’s eyes widen, “ _Six_?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on having more than two marriages.”

“Oh really? Will I be one of them?”

“Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

Julian snorts, and Logan reaches forward to help him button his coat. It’s cold, snowing just lightly, and Julian leans into Logan’s warmth. 

“No offense to your family’s Christmas traditions,” Julian says, “But the one spoon of caviar and the single quail egg I had weren’t exactly filling.”

“Everything’ll probably be closed on Christmas Eve,” Logan says, glancing down the street, “But if you’re willing to trek out to Chinatown we can have something very non-traditional.”

“Dumplings sound a hell of a lot better than sad fish eggs,” Julian says, “Let’s go.”

Logan raises his hand to hail a cab, stopping to let Julian in first. Just before he follows, the front door opens once more, and Johnny Wright steps out.

“Wait,” he says, jogging down the stairs without a jacket, “Take this.”

He slips something into Logan’s hand, and Logan frowns.

“I have my own credit card.”

“This is your grandfather’s,” Johnny says, “I want you two to see exactly how much you can spend in one night, alright?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is. Beat my record and I’ll let you two have first dibs on the island this summer. And bring some leftovers for Michelle, would you? The shouting is only barely covering the sound of her stomach growling.”

“Mu-shu pork and fried rice?”

“As always.”

Logan tries to smile, pocketing the card. He nods at his father, turning back to the cab.

“And Logan?”

“...yes?”

“Have fun, alright? Someone in this damn family deserves a Christmas that isn’t miserable.”

He turns back into the house, and Logan watches him leave as he slides into the cab. 

“That was weird,” Julian says, “He was nice.”

“He’s getting soft in his old age,” Logan says, “But I say we take him up on the challenge. It’s a nice island.”

“Ten course dinner and heavy drinking?”

“Naturally.”

“Bring it on.”


	11. Christmas Proposal

Logan’s been twitchy. Julian can’t quite remember when it started. He’d noticed it in early December, when Logan had started to leave the room for phone calls and hurriedly close his laptop when Julian stepped into the room.

If Julian were a little more paranoid, he might think Logan’s cheating. But he’s heard the way Logan talks in bed, and he knows Logan’s more than satisfied in their relationship. 

Which only means it _has_ to be tied to his Christmas present in some way. Julian’s not sure what Logan could be planning that’s this big. It’s not that Logan’s _bad_ at presents, per say, it’s just that he tends to play it safe. Most years, Logan just sneaks a peek at Julian’s Amazon cart and purchases an assortment of gifts.

But Julian’s checked, and while a few things from his list have been purchased, none of them are crazy enough to warrant Logan’s nerves coming out in full force. He wonders if Logan’s gone off-script, purchased something else that made him squirm like this.

He tries to press. Logan’s a terrible liar, after all, and Julian knows it shouldn’t be hard to get the truth out of him. But Logan _is_ remarkably good at distracting Julian, at pressing kisses to his throat until Julian forgets the question.

Then the phone calls come, and Logan looks like he might well and truly panic. 

It’s Dolce first -- she had planned on traveling to her husband’s relatives for Christmas, but one of them had come down with the flu. They were understandably reluctant to travel with two babies still too young to be vaccinated, and Julian readily agrees to host them for Christmas.

Then came Michelle and Johnny. The Senator’s speaking engagement on the twenty-sixth had been rescheduled, and Michelle called in excitement even as she booked plane tickets.

Logan looks so stressed Julian wonders how he’s handling it.

“We just didn’t plan it,” he says when asked, “It was going to be a quiet Christmas, just the two of us, and now we have my dad and stepmom, your mom and stepdad, _and_ your sisters.”

“I thought you liked my sisters?”

“I _do_. We just didn’t plan it.”

“I can take care of it,” Julian offers, “I’ll order presents. We’ll put up some more decorations just for the babies. We have the room.”

“I know,” Logan says weakly, “We just...didn’t _plan_ it.”

The families arrive on Christmas Eve. Dolce and her husband first, with the shorter commute. Julian squeals over his twin sisters, marveling at how much they’ve grown in the few weeks since he’s seen them last. Logan helps carry stacks of gifts inside, eyes darting nervously at the tree as everyone moves closer. 

Johnny and Michelle arrive next, accompanied by two of Johnny’s regular security detail. It’s even more people than Logan had anticipated, and he yanks at his hair even as Julian offers to set them up in the bedroom nearest the front door. 

It’s so many goddamn _people_ , all gathered in the living room with the Christmas tree.

“Don’t you think we’d all be more comfortable in the dining room?” Logan offers, and Julian frowns at him.

“But I decorated _this_ room. Besides, there’s more places to sit here. I don’t think the girls would be very comfortable in high chairs all night.”

“I know it’s just...they might mess up the decorations.”

Julian blinks, “I don’t care, really. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“But…”

“Oh my god, Logan, why are you being so weird?”

The room falls quiet. Dolce and Michelle look up from the photo album they’d been poring over. Their husbands move away from the liquor cabinet, both holding scotch glasses. Even the babies on the floor fall into a hush, lifting their tiny heads at their brother’s voice.

“Is everything okay?” Michelle asks, looking worried, “Oh god, I knew we were imposing…”

“You’re not imposing,” Julian says, “He’s been weird all month.”

Johnny frowns, “Is everything okay? You said you were doing well. You just got that new job.”

“It’s not about the _job_!” Logan growls, “It’s not about...god, I just didn’t expect an _audience_ for this, alright?”

“An audience for _what_?!”

Logan spins away, storming across the room to the Christmas tree with enough force that the babies whimper in fright. He reaches into the branches, pulling off the sparkly ribbon he’d slipped high enough for Julian to not notice. He turns, hand outstretched, and everyone stares.

Michelle brings a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. Dolce audibly gasps, eyes flitting briefly to her son before she looks back at Logan. Her husband smiles softly, giving an encouraging nod. Johnny doesn’t react at first, but then his face twists into what almost looks like _pride_. They’re all staring at Logan’s hand, at the golden ring hanging off the silver ribbon.

And Julian bursts into tears.

The babies look up, concerned, and Dolce reaches for him. But he shakes her off, steps forward and moves closer to Logan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, struggling to fight off the rather dramatic show of emotion, “I can’t believe you’re going this _now_.”

“It’s not what I planned,” Logan retorts, “I thought it was just going to be the two of us. But everyone’s been staring at the tree, and _someone_ was bound to notice, and I...it’s not what I imagined.”

“I knew you were thinking about it,” Julian says, still wiping at his eyes, “I saw the google searches. But I didn’t know you...I wasn’t sure you were ready.”

“I am. If you are. Julian…” Logan drops to one knee, and someone lets out a soft sob, “Will you marry me?”

“Of _course_ I will you idiot oh my god, get up.”

Julian’s hands fist in the fabric of Logan’s sweater, and he pulls him back to his feet. He leans in to kiss him hard, tears still streaming down his face. Behind them, all four parents scramble to pull out their phones, to capture the perfect photo of Logan slipping the ring onto Julian’s finger. 

“I can’t believe you did this in front of everyone,” Julian murmurs.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“We’re _engaged_ ,” Julian says, “You _proposed_.”

“I did.”

“I was gonna,” Julian continues, “I kinda wanted you to, but if you hadn’t I was gonna do it next summer.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer.”

That brings a fresh set of tears to Julian’s eyes, and he ducks his head into Logan’s shoulder. Logan smiles, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend -- his _fiance_ \-- and holds him tight.

Dolce clears her throat, “Let’s give them a minute, hm? Michelle, would you help me with the girls?”

The parents trickle out of the room, and Logan feels a surge of gratitude once he and Julian are alone.

“I’m sorry I’ve been weird?”

“Are you _kidding_?” Julian looks up, “Obviously you’re forgiven. God, you _proposed_. We have to call Derek.”

“He knows. He spent eight hours with me trying to pick out the ring.”

“It took you eight hours?”

“You’re very picky.”

Julian smiles, holding his hand up to gaze down at his adorned finger, “You did a good job. It’s perfect.”

Logan leans in again, kissing Julian softly. It feels different somehow, now that it’s his _fiancé_ he’s kissing.

“We should probably get back to them,” Julian says, reluctantly pulling away.

“Why? I like just doing this.”

“My mom and Michelle are probably planning the wedding already. If we want any say in _anything_ we need to stop them.”

“...fair point, let’s go.”

Logan takes Julian’s hand, marveling at the cool feel of the ring against his fingers, and they walk into the other room together.

As _fiancés_. 


	12. 12 Days of Christmas

Julian doesn’t really know what to think when he wakes up to a tree in his bedroom. A full on _tree_ , in a heavy pot, with green pears hanging from the branches. He only has a moment to ponder over the new addition before a bird soars over his bed, startling him enough to make him scream. There’s a noise from the hall, and then his door opens.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Derek says, eyeing the bird warily where it perches on Julian’s desk, “I swear I did.”

“This was _Logan_?” Julian asks, scurrying out of bed, “I would’ve guessed it was another one of the twins pranks.”

“He thinks it’s charming,” Derek says, “It’s the twelve days of Christmas thing.”

“The what?”

“You know... _on the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree_.”

“That’s what this is? A partridge?”

“A quail, actually. Turns out partridges are hard to come by in the US.”

Julian frowns, still eyeing the bird. It appears unfazed, settling in on a pile of scripts Julian had left in the corner. He glances at the pear tree.

“This is going to happen every day?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Once Julian’s managed to get dressed, ducking the bird on his way, he finds Logan in the hall. The blonde looks up at him with a smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to Julian’s cheek.

“Did you like your present?”

“It was...creative,” Julian says, “I’ve never heard of someone actually gifting the twelve days of Christmas.”

If Logan hears the wariness in Julian’s voice, he doesn’t acknowledge it, “You always talk about how much you love Christmas. I wanted to give you something special. Something traditional.”

He looks so eager, and Julian can’t bear to wipe that smile off his face. So he smiles back, leans into Logan’s kiss and makes sure Logan sees him eat one of the pears from the tree.

By the fourth day, Julian’s sick of all the goddamn birds.

“My room has turned into an aviary,” he says to Derek, chasing away one of the French hens when it tries to peck at his leg, “Why the fuck would a song romanticize having this many goddamn birds?”

Derek doesn’t appear to be listening, his head cocked at another bird, “Does this turtle dove kind of look like a pigeon to you?”

On the fifth day, Julian’s just relieved he’s not getting another goddamn bird. Logan looks a little sheepish when he delivers a small wrapped box, tied together with a golden bow.

“They’re not _those_ rings, obviously,” he says, “It’s just the song, you know. I don’t even know if you wear jewelry…”

“I’ll wear them,” Julian says, lifting the lid of the box to find six identical gold rings, “Not all at the same time. And on my right hand, of course. But I’ll wear them.”

Logan beams.

The sixth day brings more goddamn birds, and Julian’s about to lose his mind. The geese are loud and violent, and he’s chased from his room as they flap their wings menacingly at him.

Derek laughs, the asshole.

Logan doesn’t seem bothered that Julian asks to sleep in his room that night.

Thankfully, for the seventh day, Logan has the swans delivered to the lake on the school grounds, rather than Julian’s bedroom. They are rather beautiful, Julian thinks, gracefully drifting along the surface of the water as he and Logan share a quiet picnic.

Until, of course, two of the swans gang up on the others, and he and Logan are forced to flee from a rather aggressive fight over territory. 

Julian’s not sure how Logan intends to deliver the next few gifts. They’re _people_ , after all, and he can’t exactly sneak dozens of hired hands into Julian’s room.

The eight maids-a-milking look a little irritated, set up on the lawn outside Stuart with eight cows. They draw an audience, heaps of confused students wondering why the hell these eight women seem to have set up their dairy farm in the middle of the schoolyard.

He gets a text about the nine ladies dancing. A warning, from a Dobry girl he’d briefly dated sophomore year. 

_Wright hired the dance team. Apparently he tried for the Rockettes, but their schedule is a little full_.

The Dobry dance team -- nine of them, at least -- puts on the performance of the year in twenty-seven degree weather right in front of Stuart House. The boys seem far more excited about this than the cow-milking of the day prior, whooping and hollering as the girls fall into splits and shimmy at the crowd. 

Day ten draws some excitement from Hanover house, only because it involves _Justin Bancroft_ , for some reason. He’s sandwiched in the middle of a group of men, all performing some wild dance that involves a frankly absurd amount of jumping.

“It’s _ten lords-a-leaping_ ,” Logan says, matter-of-factly, “Bancroft’s a lord, I think.”

Days eleven and twelve give Julian a migraine. He’s popping Advil like candy, struggling to smile at Logan as he’s followed around by eleven pipers and twelve drummers. It’s not that they’re _bad_ \-- Logan’s somehow managed to hire the Bluecoats Drum Corps for this strange present. It’s just that it’s so much noise for so long, and Julian’s barely been able to sleep with the menagerie of birds still living in his room. 

Derek finally takes pity on him, offering up his own room as a safe place to nap. Julian pulls a pillow over his head, drowning out the noise as best he can, and does his best to fall asleep.

When he wakes up, the quiet is a little jarring. He can’t hear drums. He can’t hear pipes. He doesn’t hear the whooping of boys watching pretty girls dance, or the loud chirping and squawking of far too many birds.

What he _does_ hear is soft piano music, played from the adjoining room.

Logan looks up when Julian leans against the doorway.

“...hi,” he says, pulling his hands away from the piano.”

“Hi.”

“I uh…I realized on day six that the whole thing was kind of ridiculous,” Logan confesses, “Derek said I should have realized before I started. I guess I got caught up in it all.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous.”

“Your room’s been _condemned_ ,” Logan says, “The dean sent someone to inspect it, and apparently all the birds have made it unlivable.”

“Oh,” Julian blinks, “Where am I supposed to sleep, then?”

Logan looks a little flustered, “I mean, I thought...here? I’m sorry.”

“It was a sweet idea,” Julian says, moving to sit beside Logan on the piano, “I appreciate the thought. That’s more effort than I’ve ever seen anyone put in for a Christmas present.”

“I just really wanted to show you how much I love you.”

“How about next time you just tell me?”

Logan flushes, looking a little embarrassed. His fingers glide over the keys, and Julian groans at the notes.

“How about we don’t play that song for a while? At least until I stop smelling like birds.”

Logan laughs, “Fair. But you don’t smell _that_ much like bird.”

“Liar,” Julian elbows him, then places a small box on the top of the piano, “I got you something, too.”

Logan eyes it warily, “Is it payback for all the birds?”

“Just open it, would you?”

Logan does. He stares. He laughs. The wrapping gets tossed aside, and they lean into each other as they stare up at the small snowglobe, the figurine of a partridge perched on a tree branch inside.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Merry Christmas, Jules.”


End file.
